


Thursday

by songofthe52hertzwhale



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 20:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofthe52hertzwhale/pseuds/songofthe52hertzwhale
Summary: Julian's having a weirdly good day, and he's starting to think his friends have something to do with it.





	Thursday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shewarbler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewarbler/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Lauren!

Julian wakes up to the sweet smell of vanilla-flavored coffee and a soft, whispered argument.

 

“Just leave the coffee on his nightstand, Lo, his alarm will go off soon enough.”

 

“Well if he’s coming to breakfast with us he needs to get up soon.”

 

“I think he’d prefer _sleep_.”

 

“He needs _food_ , Derek.”

 

“What I _need_ ,” Julian groans, his face half-buried in his pillow, “Is for my idiot friends to stop bitching at each other while I’m trying to get my beauty rest.”

 

“Oh good,” Logan says, his voice too-bright, “You’re awake. Breakfast in the kitchen in ten.”

 

“I’ll just eat a pop-tart, let me _sleep_.”

 

“Someone ordered pancakes from IHOP. They have a stack of those dark chocolate mousse ones you like.”

 

Julian finally raises his head, squinting at his friends, “Save me some. Now. I’ll be down in five.”

 

Logan and Derek both grin, sharing an odd look with each other Julian can’t interpret just before they run off. It’s eerily reminiscent of the Brightman twins, and Julian half-thinks they’re lying to him about the pancakes. It’d be a shame, really — he _really_ wants those pancakes now.

 

Thankfully, there’s a thick stack of them waiting on a plate when he finally makes it to the kitchen. The chair between Logan and Derek is empty, and there’s a large jug of maple syrup and a can of whipped cream set right in front of the pancakes.

 

“Who ordered these, anyway?” Julian asks as he takes a seat, pulling the stack of chocolate pancakes close.

 

“Thad,” Derek says.

 

“Cyrus,” Logan says, at the same moment.

 

Julian raises an eyebrow.

 

“Maybe Bailey?” Derek continues, “We didn’t really ask.”

 

Julian’s not really bothered enough to question it further. He brings a forkful of fluffy pancakes to his mouth, moans a little at the taste. Who cares who brought them, as long as he gets to eat them. He actually manages to finish five of them, tries not to think about how pissed his nutritionist would be if she knew. 

 

“So, I was thinking,” Logan says, after Julian’s pushed his plate aside, “There’s a production of _Hamlet_ in Columbus tonight. I know it’s your favorite Shakespeare production, Jules. Plus I’m pretty sure we’re studying it in English next semester, D, you can get ahead.”

 

“Sure,” Derek says, shrugging, “Seeing it instead of just reading it might help with the paper I’ll inevitably have to write about it.”

 

“ _You_ want to go to the theatre?” Julian asks, “You _hate_ plays. You said they’re boring and too slow.”

 

“Shakespeare’s pretty cool.”

 

Julian raises an eyebrow, “Don’t you have soccer practice on Thursdays?”

 

“It was canceled today,” Derek says, gathering up the breakfast plates, “There were too many guys with conflicts. SAT study group, tutoring, y’know.”

 

“I can get three tickets right now,” Logan says, casually scrolling through his phone, “If you guys are interested.”

 

“I mean yeah, I love Hamlet. ’s long as you two can deal with me judging the way they handle the monologue.”

 

“We always deal with it, don’t we?”

 

Julian grins into his coffee, and Logan’s fingers move across his phone.

 

“There, then,” he says, “All booked. We can leave after class, get dinner after?”

 

“Ooh,” Julian brightens, “Can we go to The Refectory? We haven’t gone in _ages_.”

 

There’s this odd, shared smile that passes between Logan and Derek.

 

“Sure,” Derek says, turning away, “They _do_ do the best filet mignon I’ve found in Ohio.”

 

“So meet up after class, then?” Logan stands, tapping away at his phone again, “I can drive.”

 

There’s still a weird vibe going on, one Julian doesn’t really understand. Derek and Logan keep sharing those _looks_ , keep glancing over at him and quickly glancing away. It has him so on edge that he pulls out his phone in his first-period calculus class, scrolls through his own Twitter tag to see if there’s some kind of awful rumor going around, if he’d gotten a bad review for his last performance. But he can’t find anything major. Maybe there’s something going on with one of _them_ , some weird secret they’re keeping. 

 

But he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it.

 

Not with how fucking _weird_ everyone’s being.

 

At the beginning of his Economics class, Danny leans over, a bright red lollipop in his hand.

 

“Hey,” he whispers, “I uh…I had to stop by the school nurse this morning for ibuprofen, and she kinda just put this in my hand when I left. You like cherry, right?”

 

Julian frowns, “You don’t want it?”

 

“Nah,” Danny says, setting the candy on Julian’s desk, “More of a grape fan, myself.”

 

He smiles, then turns back to face front, flipping open his notebook and uncapping his pen. Julian side-eyes him a little bit — he and Danny haven’t exactly spoken much, aren’t exactly _friends_ , so he’s not quite sure why Danny would think of _him_. But cherry _is_ his favorite, and he unwraps the candy, pops it in his mouth and sucks at it as their teacher drones on about consumer demand theory. 

 

In third-period Physics, Reed passes him a folded piece of paper.

 

“Mom heard a rumor,” Reed says, at Julian’s curious look, “About next year’s Met Gala theme. This is just an initial sketch, of course, but I had an idea I thought you might like.”

 

Reed smiles sweetly, and Julian opens the paper. For something Reed had called an _initial sketch_ , it looks pretty damn good. It’s just the right amount of extra, has a color scheme Julian knows will suit him. 

 

“You don’t have to decide now,” Reed says, when Julian doesn’t respond right away, “I just thought you might want first dibs.”

 

“No, I really like it. Let me know when you have a mock-up, okay?”

 

Reed nods and leans back in his seat, and Julian slips the sketch into his day planner. 

 

Fourth-period European History goes by mostly without incident, until Julian slings his bag over his shoulder to leave.

 

“Hey, Larson?” A voice calls out from behind him, a little nervous, “Could I talk to you for a second?”

 

It’s an underclassmen, one Julian vaguely recognizes as being a member of the school’s drama club. 

 

“Oh, hey,” Julian says, pausing in the hallway, “Uh…Jacob, right?”

 

“Jason,” the boy corrects, “I uh…I wanted to ask a favor, if that’s okay?”

 

“It better not be an autograph. Not when I’m trying to get to lunch.”

 

The boy turns violently red, “No, that’s not…I was actually looking for you after class yesterday, but your friends said you were busy…I just got cast in the freshman play? Death of a Salesman?”

 

“Oh, right. Rehearsals start in two weeks, right? I promised I’d sit in and give you guys feedback.”

 

“Yeah, that’s right. But I was kind of hoping you’d be willing to go over the script with me beforehand? This is really the first play I’ve done, and I don’t know where to start. I’d like to get tips from a professional first, you know?”

 

Julian feels a small surge of pride at being called a _professional_. It’s a little ridiculous, of course, but he appreciates this freshman admiring _his_ acting ability enough to ask for tips. 

 

“I actually have time Sunday, if that works?” He offers, “I can meet you in the auditorium around noon.”

 

“That would be perfect, oh my god,” the boy gushes, “I appreciate it _so_ much, really!”

 

The boy looks so ecstatic Julian’s half-worried he’ll try to _hug_ him. Instead, he bounces away, leaves with an awkward wave and a toothy smile. 

 

Unfortunately, that short conversation had been enough to make Julian late to lunch. The line is absolutely _ridiculous_ , and he knows they’ll run out his favorite turkey sandwiches before he can make it to the front. But just as he’s getting in line, he sees Derek waving at him.

 

“Jules!” He calls, gesturing him over, “We got you food already, come on!”

 

He’s grinning as he takes a seat across from his friends, as he gathers up the food spread between their two trays. Logan hands him a turkey sandwich and a Gatorade, Derek’s snagged him a bag of chips and a fudge brownie.

 

“You guys are the _best_ ,” he says, pulling the plastic wrap off the sandwich, “God, that line looked like hell.”

 

“Please, you never actually wait,” Logan scoffs.

 

“Well, no. But I was about to get a lot of dirty looks when I cut to the front.”

 

Derek laughs, “Don’t worry about it. I saw you talking to that kid when I left for lunch. Figured you’d be held up a few minutes. He wasn’t bothering you, was he?”

 

“Nah,” Julian says, through a mouthful of bread and turkey, “Drama kid. Wanted tips.”

 

“I got us reservations for dinner,” Logan says idly, “After the play. Gave my father’s name and asked for champagne at the table, too. Hopefully they don’t notice we’re not old enough.”

 

Julian’s actually feeling pretty excited about tonight. He _does_ love going to the theatre, even if he knows the other two won’t likes it as much. Logan prefers musicals, and Derek’s not a huge fan of either. But _Hamlet_ ’s pretty widely-enjoyed, and he hopes they find something interesting in it. They’ll like the restaurant, at least — they’d found it partway through freshman year, and it quickly became one of their favorites. 

 

The rest of the day goes by fairly quickly. There’s a few more odd occurrences: the Brightmans swoop down on him in the hallway, each kissing a cheek and telling him _how pretty you look today, Cheshire_! In sixth period, Sebastian hands him a raspberry macaron from a small box in his backpack. All little things, things that on a normal day might not seem weird. But Julian feels like _everyone’s_ been nice to him today, and it’s starting to feel a little odd.

 

Thankfully, it’s just the three of them after school. Derek doesn’t fight back when Julian calls dibs on shotgun, and Logan doesn’t argue when Julian commandeers the radio. 

 

“How the hell did you get _these_ seats last minute?” Julian asks, when Logan walks straight to the third row of the theatre, “I know it’s just Columbus, but _still_.”

 

Logan shrugs, “Maybe people didn’t want to pay for them? Maybe because it was an odd number of seats? I don’t know, I got lucky.”

 

He lets Julian takes the center seat. It’s actually his favorite seat in the theatre — close enough to see the details of the set and costumes, close enough to see the facial expressions, but not so close he has to crane his neck to watch. 

 

All in all, the play is decent. The actor playing Claudius doesn’t quite hit all his cues, and Horatio flubs a line. But Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are perfect comic relief, Hamlet is good enough, and Ophelia is absolutely _brilliant_.

 

“She’s gonna be on Broadway in the next five years, just you fucking _wait_ ,” Julian says to the others, as the audience rises in applause, “Keep that program, look her up in a couple years. I bet my next paycheck she makes it to New York.”

 

“She’s also _hot_ ,” Derek adds, and Logan reaches over Julian to smack him with the program.

 

“Alright,” he says, rolling his eyes, “Let’s get out of here before this idiot tries to hit on the actresses.”

 

The drive to the restaurant is blessedly short. Julian’s stomach had started to rumble a bit towards the end of the play, and he’s ready for the Refectory’s brie tarte, for the salmon in vin blanc sauce, for the creme brûlée. Logan snags a front-row parking spot, leads the way as they walk inside.

 

“Wright,” he says, when the hostess glances up at them, “Reservation for three.”

 

The woman doesn’t even glance at her list, “Of course, Mr. Wright. Right this way, please.”

 

They follow her through the restaurant, into a small room, then a smaller room off that. It’s large enough for just one table, already set with three plates. There’s a bottle of champagne chilling in the center, three glasses set beside each plate.

 

“You’re lucking out with the reservations today, Lo,” Julian says as he takes a seat, “Great theatre seats, a private room here. It’s definitely your day.”

 

Once again, Logan and Derek share that _look_. Derek’s grin is amused, Logan’s smirk a little smug. Julian narrows his eyes.

 

“Okay, what’s going on with you two?” He finally asks, folding his arms, “What’s the deal?”

 

“Nothing, Jules.”

 

“You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

 

“Kinda surprised you haven’t _already_.”

 

“So there _is_ something going on, then?” Julian demands, “You guys did _something_?”

 

Logan laughs, reaches for the bottle of champagne and deftly uncorks it. He pours some into Julian’s glass quickly, before too much bubbles over the lip of the bottle.

 

“Just drink, Jules.”

 

He can’t help but feel suspicious during dinner. He watches the other two over appetizers, peers suspiciously as they eat their entrees. 

 

“For fuck’s sake, Jules, we’re not plotting against you,” Derek finally says, as their plates are cleared in front of them, “You’re glaring at us like you think we’re gonna steal a role, or something.”

 

“You guys are being _weird_. Everyone’s been weird today. I want to know _why_.”

 

Logan sighs heavily, looks over at Julian with an almost amused expression.

 

“Julian,” he says, patiently, “You don’t know what day it is, do you?”

 

“It’s Thursday.”

 

“The _date_ , Jules.”

 

Julian frowns, pulls his phone out of his pocket, “Why does it matter what the date — oh.”

 

He looks up, sees the twin smiles on Logan and Derek’s faces. Understanding finally dawns on him, and he sinks back in his seat, feeling a little foolish.

 

“…how did you know?”

 

“Logan held your hand a lot in the hospital,” Derek says, “Spent a lot of time staring at your hospital bracelet. When he wasn’t crying, at least.”

 

“I feel like you could’ve left out about half of that,” Logan says, sounding mildly annoyed.

 

“So you planned this whole day, then? Told all those people that were nice to me that it was my birthday?”

 

“‘course not,” Logan scoffs, “I just sent out a text to a couple people, asked them to be nice to you today. Honestly they might’ve just thought you were having a shitty day, or something.”

 

“So that kid who asked me for advice…”

 

“Tried to track you down yesterday,” Derek tells him, “I told him you were busy but that he could track you down before lunch today. He really did want help, that wasn’t a lie.”

 

Julian considers for a moment. It really _had_ been a nice day, he supposes, just enough to put him in a good mood without being over-the-top. Of course, they couldn’t end the day without a _little_ bit of cliche, and Julian covers his face when the waiter returns with a slice of cake, a single candle stuck into the frosting. 

 

“Don’t you _dare_ sing,” he mutters, “If you two sing I _swear_ I will walk out of here right now.”

 

The two of them laugh, but they don’t sing. Instead, they watch with wide grins as the cake gets set in front of Julian, lean in to jostle his shoulders as the candlelight flickers across his face.

 

“You _do_ have to blow it out,” Derek says, “We’ll let you get off without the song but _that_ part is a necessity.”

 

Julian grumbles a little bit under his breath, but does as he’s told. The candle extinguishes with a tiny waft of smoke, and Logan presses a fork into Julian’s hand.

 

“Happy birthday, Jules.”


End file.
